Every few yards gaily decorated booths from which smiling women or lusty-lunged men harangued the passers-by to "come across or the Kaiser will." On a platform erected on the steps in front of the Public Library a slight figure in kilts addressing a swaying, surging crowd.

As the bus, held up for a minute by the cross-town traffic, stopped, we could hear the pleasing burr of Harry Lauder.

Two hours later; a mile and a half farther downtown.

The sound of a band in the distance.

The horses of the mounted policemen forcing back the curious thousands to the curb.